Mystic Charm

By Sara Longmate

In the mystical world of Mystic Charm, 17-year-old Alexandra, aka Alex, is about to discover that her life is anything but ordinary. Abandoned on a church's steps as a baby, Alex has been plagued by an uncanny string of tragedies and accidents that have left her feeling like an outcast, a magnet for misfortune.
 

But destiny takes a sudden turn when she finds herself in a new group home in the remote landscapes of Montana. Far from the prying eyes of her past, Alex stumbles upon a family of fellow misfits, each harboring their own extraordinary secrets. Amidst the enchanting mountains and hidden mysteries, she learns that the supernatural occurrences in her life are not mere coincidences.
 

As Alex grapples with her newfound reality, she's faced with an impossible choice. Her new family insists that she's part of a magical prophecy destined to save a dying race of Mystics. Yet, her independent spirit rebels against the idea of being something she's not. The pull of solitude, a life lived solely for herself, beckons her away from the tangled web of destiny.
 

In Mystic Charm, the stakes are high, and the lines between love, magic, and self-discovery blur. Will Alex embrace her role in the mystical prophecy and save the dying race of Mystics, or will she retreat into the safety of solitude, forever evading the closeness she never knew she needed? Join Alex on a heart-stopping journey where the supernatural collides with the secrets of the heart, and the choices made will either shatter or solidify the bonds of Mystic Charm.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sara Longmate
• Release date: Dec 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223770008

Sara Longmate

Welcome to the world of Sara Longmate, a storyteller whose life is a tapestry of motherhood, teaching, and the enchantment found in the quiet moments by the lake. As the proud mother of two beautiful teenage girls and a pair of lively twin boys, Sara's days are filled with the delightful chaos of family life. By profession, she's a dedicated middle school teacher, guiding young minds through the intricacies of learning. Beyond the classroom, you'll find Sara on the baseball field as the devoted team mom, leading her Cub Scouts along scenic trails, or passionately cheering on her kids as they march with the high school band. Amidst these various roles, Sara discovers solace in her writing, where she intricately weaves tales of love and magic. The serenity of a lake, a cup of coffee in hand, and the gentle glow of the sunrise inspire her creativity. In the midst of life's bustling activities, Sara's stories unfold, inviting readers to immerse themselves in narratives that capture the essence of family, love, and the enchanting moments that make life truly magical.

Book preview

Prologue

A lex! Hey wait up.

Shane, the cutest boy at Jeffries Technical High School, called out cheerfully. I turned and saw him walking towards me. I didn’t bother trying to open my mouth, because the words that may come out might instantly incriminate me. Labeling me a full-blown spaz, who was head over heels in love with him. He continued.

Hey, so I was just coming over here to ask you something. 

Yeah?

I said shyly, hoping it came out more coy than shy. 

There’s a new movie playing at the Multiplex, something about vampires on a 100-year-old reveng e kick. You want to go? With me? 

Vampires?

I raised an eyebrow at him. 

Yeah, isn’t that what all you girls are into now? I mean, I don’t know but there’s lots of blood and fighting.

I laughed into the jacket I cradled in my arms. I couldn’t believe he was talking to me, and about vampires, of all things. I smiled, still a little shocked it was me he was talking to and not someone like Charlotte Davis.

Yeah, maybe like twenty years ago. Go Team Edward.

I gave a little mock air punch with my last statement. Sarcasm remaining my defense, regardless of being shocked or not.

So, you’ll go with me to the movies?

I wondered if he was the shy one now as he looked down at his sneakers. So I said the only logical thing.

Yeah, I’ll go with you, if you don’t mind me swooning like all the other girls.

Raising my eyebrows and tucking my chin in a ‘just like you said,’ sort of way. He chuckled.

Yeah, okay, bad assumption, all forgiven?

His hands went up in the customary sign of defeat. I nodded my head and tried not to smile like some crazed freak show. I couldn’t believe that Shane Dodson was asking me to the movies! I hope this wasn’t some huge cosmic mistake that would later backfire in my face.

Okay great, I’ll meet you at the pavilion at seven?

He said, looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes. I responded.

Yeah okay, see you then.

He backed away wearing a confident smile. I couldn’t help but to smile back.

Down the hall I could see Charlotte Davis, a bratty rich girl from hell, plant herself right in front of his locker (could she be any more obvious). Charlotte — it seems — goes out of her way to make my life miserable. She looks my way and evil oozes out of her over-lined eyes. Or at least that’s what I think she’s trying to convey with the look she’s throwing me. Almost as if the wings of her eyeliner would lift off her face and come out and slap me. She was leaning on his locker, laughing, trying to be cute and flirty, but it sounded forced and skanky. Something I bet she’ll be doing for the next 20 years of her life. I could feel myself seething, getting angrier as her laughter bubbled down the hall.

Shane Dodson. The cutest, cute boy of Cute-town just asked me out, and she had to get her nonexistent panties in a bunch and ruin it for me. Everyone knows she has the hots for Todd Roy, the senior QB, so why can’t she leave Shane alone? I’m shamelessly watching their encounter by his locker, and she smirks at me. She was up to something. It was like I was watching a slow-motion recap of a sporting mishap where the athlete breaks his leg in three places. It’s a horrible sight, but you can’t look away. I was about to turn back to my locker to gather my next set of books when Charlotte takes one more look in my direction. She then leans in and kisses Shane. Before I could find out if he kissed her back, rage rushed inside me as if lava was forcing rock through the earth's core. I wanted her to get her slutty mouth the hell away from Shane! 

Suddenly, without an ounce of warning, Charlotte flew backwards into the lockers, mimicking the movement of being pushed. A sick crack reverberated in my ears. I assumed that was her head on impact. She collapsed to the floor like her bones could no longer support her. Did I really witness Shane shove Charlotte into the lockers? That can’t be possible. Shane would never do that. I looked over at him. He’d gone completely still. Arms splayed out he held onto the lockers behind him. His face lost its normal golden hue and went completely gray. There was a light sheen of sweat covering his forehead and cheeks. He was pressing himself into the lockers, trying to absorb into them. Something wasn’t right. My heartbeat so hard I thought it would echo down the hallway. Taking a few steps backwards, uncertain of what had happened, yet all too familiar with the situation. I turned around and hurried out of the hall, hoping Shane hadn’t noticed my hurried escape.

All things must change to something new to something strange.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Chapter 1: City Mouse Has Officially Moved to the Country,

Alex

Karma is:  ‘The quality of somebody’s current and future lives as determined by that person’s behavior in this, and in previous lives.’  According to Webster Dictionary. If you’re going by that definition, then my  Past Lives  must have really sucked. Little did I know how true that statement was going to be. My name is Alexandra Hart, and this is my story.

I could never fully process the idea of Karma or luck, fortunate or unfortunate events. I always thought those sorts of things were due to a person’s will. What were they willing to fight for, to strive for, what were they willing to sacrifice to make what they wanted to happen? Were they willing or unwilling to do good? And it was that good — or lack thereof — that dictated their karma. So why then, when I try to do good or be good, or simply just your average juvenile citizen, does my karma suck so badly? With the logic of karma in play, I must repel luck. For I sure haven’t had much of it these past 17 years because bad things always happen around me and to me. 

Ipicked up my eyes from the notebook I’ve been mindlessly doodling in for the last, I don’t know how many hours. I quickly realized how stiff my neck and shoulders were from holding the same position for so long. I feared my hand is now permanently claw shaped. I looked out the window and regrettably wished I hadn’t. All I could see was miles and miles of the Rocky Mountains. Our car zigged and zagged between twin walls of rock and moss with occasional glimpses of the canyon below. I felt a fear of small places and a fear of heights simultaneously. I didn’t even know that was possible. Keeping my eyes on the notebook in my lap was the only way I could hold off the crushing fear of death by car plummet or rockslide. I know I’m being a tad bit dramatic. But when you must drive miles away from the only home you know, because you’ve worn out your welcome from an entire state, you get a little dramatic.

I buried my face in my hands, unable to handle any more of the constant weaving of the car. Once we started leveling out, I braved the window to see we were descending into a valley. The valley opened to a green meadow basin like something out of a Thomas Kinkade painting. As we got closer, I saw a sign that read Gold Creek Welcomes You with an intricately carved horse and rider underneath. I’m convinced I was now in a Thomas Kinkade painting.

To take my mind off that this city mouse has officially moved to the country, I launched into the events that brought me here. My mother had abandoned me on the steps of a church as an infant with nothing more than a diaper and a blanket with my name stitched in one corner. The only witness was an elderly man who told authorities he thought he saw a car with Illinois plates across the lot leaving in a hurry, which could have been helpful considering we were in Minnesota. It was dark, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses, so they threw his statement out. There weren’t any other leads to be found, as the car was in a blind spot of the only security camera in the area. The case went cold, and they deemed me a ward of the state, which began my journey of mismatched and misplaced foster homes. With a beginning like mine, and no roots to ground me, it doomed me to be labeled a difficult case. Circumstances inevitably follow me regardless of where I live, which made me feel as unwanted as a canker sore. Making me a prime suspect for relocation when I was no longer a, good fit.

Now I can’t always explain why I was moved so many times. It could have something to do with the crazy things that constantly seemed to follow me. I believed the good people of Minnesota drew their own wacky conclusions to why those weird things happen when I was around. But regardless of the reason, one too many unexplained — and sometimes damaging — things had occurred. So, they kicked me out.

Believe me. I quickly packed my suitcase for my next stop, no question, no refunds. Now I’ve never read my Case Chart, but I know all the fluffy words they use to explain why I am being transferred — again. I have officially been through every Group Home and foster family in Minnesota. Which is why I find myself in a mountain town in Montana. Silver Mountain Youth Manor here I come. A.K.A., This is Your Last Stop So Make It Work Manor. Hmm, Youth Manor like some kind of resort getaway. Somehow, I doubt it.

Alexandra. 

Clara Stonewell. My social worker snapped me out of my contemplation. Eunice, a short stumpy woman who wears way too much blush, has been my social worker ever since I could remember. She is the closest thing I have to any resemblance of a family. She’s nice. But somehow, it always seemed like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. But that could be my trust issues talking. So here we are on this two-day trip riding in this tin can excuse of a car. My ass is so numb I can’t tell where it stops, and the car seat starts.

When are you going to stop using my full name and simply call me Alex? You know I hate when you do that. 

I muttered in response.

"You were named Alexandra for a reason. I want to honor your name by using it in full. If you were meant to be called Alex, you would have been named as such. So, Alexandra it is."

Clara continued her tirade, but I tuned her out. It’s the same script over and over. I told her to stop using it. She tells me how it’s important; I get mad; she gets offended; round and round we go. If it was that damn important, maybe the scumbags who left me on the freaking church steps could have at least left a forwarded address. Or hell, maybe even a phone number! But like I’ve said, I’ve stopped listening. I’m too engaged in the view out my window. The town was so pleasant and perfect it resembled something you would see in a Hallmark movie. One where the single mom moves to a small town and falls in love with the wealthy widower. One who brings joy back into the town and into his heart. This can’t be happening. This can’t be where I’m going to be living. With all the bad luck that seems to constantly fall at my feet, it’s going to be like letting Godzilla loose on Manhattan.

Alexandra, are you even listening to me? We’re here; help me get your stuff.

She sounded even more exasperated than usual. 

Oh yeah, sorry.

I tell her, sounding as unconcerned as possible. I know how much that ticks her off. I love to watch her get flustered and agitated in her power suites that are always one size too big. She lost a significant amount of weight recently and still hasn’t quite figured out how to dress for her new body. She really is an amazing person, and I give her a hard time because she’s the only constant figure in my life and showing emotions — positive ones — is hard for me.

I looked out the window to see where here was, and to my astonishment, it wasn’t half bad. I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting. I guess some old shack in the woods with doors hanging off the hinges and children coming out of every seam. Think Old Lady in the Shoe. But it wasn’t anything like that. The town was charming; it was an old two-story red brick building with creeping ivy growing along the walls. It had flower boxes beneath every window that sagged under the heavy weight of the brightly colored posies and pansies. A pebble paved walkway, every shade of gray and blue, swayed under the sunbeams. I half expected Hansel and Gretel to come walking out with giant lollipops in their hands.

I climbed out of the car and of course when I say climb, I mean floundered and flopped like a fish out of water. Empty chips bags and water bottles cascading out behind me. My legs felt stiff from the hours of sitting. I was about to close the car door when I heard footsteps behind me. The hairs on the back of my neck trembled, every nerve in my body was alert. I could hear my heartbeat thud in my ears. I couldn’t decipher why my body was reacting this way. It must be the newness of everything. 

You must be Alexandra Hart.

I turned to face the voice. I swear, I almost recognized it, but the memory was too hazy to fully recall where I could have heard it. I tried to shake the fog that settled in my mind because, of course, that was highly unlikely. I have never been out of Minnesota and the odds of running into someone I knew was, what, one in a million? 

"Alex is fine"

I told the woman. When I turned to look at her, a flicker of remembrance came over me. But again, it was too thin I couldn’t grasp the memory. It felt like water falling through cracks in your hands, you can hold it, but never long enough to fully fill your palm.

Well, Ms. Hart, welcome to the Manor. May I help you with your belongings? The lady said extremely politely. If she recognized me, like I thought I recognized her, she didn’t make any movement to tell me otherwise. I took a harder look at her, unabashedly. There was something about her that made me uneasy. I couldn’t tell if it was her grandmotherly warmth she was projecting, which my natural instincts wanted to deflect. Or because I felt drawn to her in a more familiar term, like something was — calling me — towards her. Like a message finally answered. As quickly as the thought came, it left, and it was just me and her standing outside her gingerbread house in an awkward staring contest.

My name is Meriwether North. You can call me Ms. Mary.

She moved closer and extended her hand for me to shake. I shook it tentatively. Before I could say anything, she bent down to pick up my backpack. Ms. Mary was a hearty woman with skin the color of coffee with too much cream. She was a few inches taller than me, which wasn’t hard for I stand a whopping 5’3". Her hair, what little she had of it, grew out in tight spirals that were ashy gray in color. But what I noticed the most were her eyes; they were the color of seaweed. A green, so green they were almost translucent. I could almost see the ocean stillness beyond her pupils. Looking into her eyes filled me with a sense of calm, like a wave had engulfed me, carrying me out to a sea of tranquility. 

I forcibly shook my head to release myself from her gaze. The powerful wave dissipated, but it left behind the sensation of water licking at my toes. I felt a wave descending back into the ocean. Feeling connected to the sea gave me strength, calming my nerves over this big move. She smiled warmly at me and with my bag in hand, turned around to lead us up the pathway. I grabbed my only other luggage. It was an old trunk,  Claraand I found at a secondhand store patched together with old stickers of bands I’ve never heard of and places I’ve never been. But I hefted it into my arms and followed Ms. Stonewell into the house.

The others are at school right now. They shall be returning in a little while. It will allow you some time to unpack and settle in before making more introductions.

I heard Ms. Mary say over her shoulder.

I nodded at first, and then hurriedly said a quick Thank you. Before she assumed I was ignoring her. We walked into the house where Ms. Mary led us to a small room right off the main entrance. I believed she called it a Mud Room. There was a long wooden bench and coat hooks all along the wall. It smelled like pine and lemon. I shrugged out of my heavy coat, feeling a load lighter, and hung it next to the others that were scattered around.

Well now, how about a tour to familiarize yourself with your new surroundings? she said cheerfully. 

There are now currently six residents in the Manor, you as well as two boys and three girls. My cousin and I are the Matrons of the Manor. 

She continued, but I stopped listening sometime back as we walked in and out of rooms and up and down hallways. I found myself in awe of this place. I couldn’t believe this is where I’d be staying. It was unreal. At one point, I was standing in the middle of a small hallway, revealing both a kitchen on the right and what I assumed to be the living room on the left. Only it wasn’t like any living room I’ve ever seen. It was a large, open room with an enormous picture window cut out of the west-facing wall looking out onto the front yard. There was an equally large, wood burning iron claw-footed stove sitting in the opposite corner. The décor of the room cut this massive space into two very distinct areas. One half of the room where the windows were located had rectangle tables arranged in a stye that resembled an old study hall. Complete with small lamps built into the tables. The second half of the room was an entirely different story. The style of the furniture could have come from the early 1900s. Two large cocoa-colored tufted high-backed leather chairs flanked the massive iron wood stove. Each had its own little round mahogany table whose legs we intricately carved to look like tree trunks growing out of the wood floor. Little wine-colored velvet couches with delicate little legs scattered around. Complete with mismatched patchwork pillows. Some with tassels, or buttons, or rick-rack trim. And was that glitter sequence? No two pillows were the same, and they were everywhere! Little ones on the couches, large, overly stuffed square ones on the floor. There was even a pile of them stacked in a corner about ready to topple over, all varying in size and fluffiness. The two sides of the room were warring with each other, modern and vintage, both putting up a good fight, but in the end, no winners would be named.

I could picture previous owners sitting by a roaring fire reading or knitting by lamp light. This place was just too unreal. Ms. Mary must have noticed me admiring the furniture. She told me they were original pieces dating circa 1887 and have been in her family since they were manufactured. The entire house seemed to have an old-fashioned quality about it. I wonder if all the décor was an original piece passed down from generation to generation. 

We came to the end of the hall and Ms. Mary nudged opened a door, gesturing for us to follow her inside. The door led to an office where, behind a large wooden desk sat a lady who stood up to great us.

Hello, you must be Ms. Clara Stonewell and Miss Alexandra Hart. Please come in and have a seat. It is so lovely to meet you. I am Ms. Terra Westerly. 

She said in an accent I couldn’t make out.

She extended her hand in greeting, and I took it cautiously. She held my hand and instantly the smell of wet soil filled my senses. It was earthy and comforting. It filled the room like a living entity. I looked around to see where the scent was coming from. No potted plants or opened windows. It had to be something filtering in from a vent, but I couldn’t see anything that would cause such an aroma. It had to be some sort of room freshener I couldn’t see. I’m telling you; this place was giving me serious creepy vibes. 

Ms. Terra took her hand away without breaking eye contact. I noticed her eyes were a rich brown, almost red in color, like clay or terracotta tiles (maybe that’s where the name came from). With the break of contact, the scent suddenly vanished as well. Once again, recognition dinged in the back of my mind, but like with Ms. Mary, it was too faint to hold any barring. They must have that face, I guess. The face that makes you think you know someone.

I rubbed at my temples, feeling an all too familiar headache coming on. Since the dawn of time, debilitating headaches have plagued me. Which no doctor could tell me the cause other than, "get more sleep, drink more water, eat more protein." Thanks, doc. That was not helpful. To get my mind off the pounding between my eyes, I inspected Ms. Terra, who looked nothing like her cousin. Where Mary was all curves and warmth, Terra was all angles and rigidity. She was tall and slender with dark ebony skin and hair that fell in a wave of midnight blue braids down to the middle of her back. She had perfect posture and cheek bones that could cut glass. For a full minute we were locked in an unfaltering stare, her eyes were fastened on mine. It felt like they were digging into my soul. I felt trapped. My vision was blurring. The room became dark. Maybe it was the headache taking over my senses. I felt stuck in thick mud, constricting every muscle in my body. The feeling was viscous and dense. I was no longer in the office but in a pit of wet sand, the smell of earth cloying at my nostrils. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. I blinked sluggishly, and the office came back into view. My eyes suddenly cleared, and I was in the house again, in the office, where I had always been. My muscles felt stiff and heavy. I took a step back and clumsily landed into a chair behind me.

What the hell was that?!

Alexandra, why don’t we head up to your room? You must be exhausted from the long trip. 

Ms. Mary said. Clara agreed, patting my shoulder. The gesture was for comfort, but her eyes looked worried.

Al-Alex 

I stuttered. Then I stood up and headed out of the room to follow Ms. Mary. I couldn’t decide if I should feel amazed or violated. Something happened in that room. I didn’t know what or how, but I knew something did. I wasn’t in a position to question anything.  Clara made it absolutely clear this was my last stop. I have exceeded all other options. I just needed to keep to myself until I was eighteen and then my life would finally be my life. I had to make this work no matter what.

We headed up a set of stairs at the back of the house to another long hallway with three doors along each wall. It reminded me of one of those dreams where no matter how fast you run, the corridor just never ends. My feet were silent scuffles on the intricately woven carpet down the hallway. The carpet was stiff from years of tread. The color had muted and melted into each other but still held some of its old glory, all gold and bronze. There was a heavy rose smell that seemed to come from everywhere. I wondered if they pumped it through the ventilation system, but of course, that was ridiculous. It must be some form of carpet powder used to clean this ancient runner. 

We reached the third door on the right, and the contradictions from the bottom floor to this one was worlds apart. The room was so modern. Desk, nightstands, and rugs look to be straight out of an IKEA Catalogue. A set of bunk beds flanked one side of the room. Each bed held a plethora of items, from discarded clothing to books to stuff animals who looked like they’ve seen better days. On the other side was a single twin bed. It was empty of any personal items, aside from being dressed in a set of plain white sheets and a multicolored heavy patchwork quilt. My bed, I’m assuming. I dropped my trunk on the empty bed, letting out a deep breath from lugging it up the flight of stairs. I wondered if I’d be able to shop for my own set of bed covers. It would be nice to have something that was just mine. I had to leave behind my last comforter, which I bought with the pathetic allowance I had received from foster home #6, or was it #8, because it had caught fire. Totally not my fault, I swear.

Ms. Mary and Clara were talking about finalizing paperwork and before they excused themselves from the room, Ms. Mary turned to me and said in a gentle voice. Well, dear, this is your new room. Please feel free to unpack and settle in. The set of drawers at the foot of this bed are empty and free for your use, as well as this desk right here. She placed my backpack on top of the desk she had mentioned, then turned to exit the room.

Clara grabbed me in a last embrace. There was a sense of urgency in her arms, and I wondered if this would be the last time, I saw Eunice. I hugged her back awkwardly. We were never the touchy feely type. Her perfume smelled of overly sweet fruit that always made my nose tickle. But it was a familiar scent, one I would come to miss. I felt a single tear slip down my cheek. I let her go. Before I could step back, she grabbed my shoulders with both her hands and looked at me firmly and said.

You’re going to be okay. You’ve got this. Keep your nose clean and your head down and you will get through this. You are an amazing person. I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but you will find your way, you will find your place. And you will always have me. No matter what. Forever.

She gave me another quick hug and a deliberate nod, then turned to shut the door behind her before I could say anything back. I guess she wasn’t good at saying goodbye either. I was left standing there alone in the room, my room, with a clearly undeniable awareness that my life would no longer be the life I once knew. Things were changing, and I knew there was no way I could stop it.

Chapter 2: Roast Beast and Potatoes

Alex

L ay off it, won’t ya ? Besides, it looks better on me, anyway. I was gonna give it back, so you see no harm, no foul.

"Nora, I don’t care. Don’t touch my